Page 24

Matt shows up to the Tuesday session with the energy of a man who just texted “u up?” to his own self-worth and got left on read. Usually, he fist-bumps everyone on his way in. Today, he just nods.

“Matt,” I say, raising a brow. “You look like a man who either got lucky or got humbled.”

He exhales. “Honestly? A little of both.”

The other guys chuckle. I do the coach lean — arms crossed, head tilted, masculine posture set to “philosopher lumberjack.”

“Alright,” I say. “Floor’s yours.”

He hesitates.

Then: “It’s Rachel. I think she’s starting to see through me.”

That gets attention. Two guys straighten. One whispers, “Oh shit.”

I nod, slow. “Tell us.”

Matt scratches the back of his neck like the answer’s hidden there. “At first, she loved it. The confidence, the clarity. I said stuff like, ‘I lead with intention’ and ‘I don’t chase, I attract,’ and she practically melted.”

I nod. Those are solid lines. Some of my best work.

“But now?” he continues. “She’s asking questions. Like, ‘What do you mean by that?’ and ‘Where did you learn this?’ And I... I don’t know what I mean. I just memorized the videos.”

Ah.

“Okay,” I say. “So now we’ve entered the advanced phase. She’s testing you.”

“She asked if I meditate,” he blurts. “So I said yes. Now I have a meditation app I haven’t opened and I panic every time she mentions mindfulness.”

The guys laugh. I don’t. Because this — this is where guys quit. The first time the persona needs maintenance.

“You listen to me,” I say, voice low. “Women will test you. That doesn’t mean you abandon your frame. That means you hold it . You’re not lying. You’re evolving. You’re becoming the version of yourself who does meditate. Eventually.”

Matt frowns. “But what if she’s not testing me? What if she’s... just paying attention?”

That one lands with a thud.

I pause. Adjust my stance.

“She’s paying attention,” I say carefully. “Sure. But don’t mistake interest for interrogation. Women want to feel you’re solid. That you know who you are.”

“But I don’t,” he says quietly. “I know who you told me to be. I just thought if I acted that way long enough, I’d become it.”

There’s a silence.

Even the guys in the back stop fidgeting.

“That’s the point,” I say, slower now. “Repetition becomes instinct. You’re laying down new tracks. Neuroplasticity. Alpha reconditioning.”

He nods, but it’s shaky.

“I mean...” he mutters, “I literally had to Google what a Syrah was before I ordered it for her. And I hate salmon. I almost gagged. But she looked impressed, so I just... kept chewing.”

Laughter. Nervous. But real.

“I ordered for her, like you said,” he adds. “Took the lead. She smiled. But then she asked what my favorite meal was, and I couldn’t remember the last time I had one that wasn’t performative.”

My jaw tightens. Not visibly. But I feel it.

He leans forward. Eyes sharp now, not just anxious. Searching.

“Adrian... how do you know when it’s real?”

The question hits harder than it should.

I glance around. The other guys are quiet. Watching me like I’m supposed to have the answer laminated in my back pocket.

“Real takes time,” I say automatically.

Matt doesn’t blink.

“And... what if the ‘me’ she’s falling for doesn’t exist?”

I freeze for a fraction of a second. Just long enough to register it.

The guy who used to flinch when a woman looked at him is now out here quoting polarity theory and dismantling his own emotional facade.

He’s doing it. And it’s working. But maybe too well.

And maybe — just maybe — he’s not the only one who’s been faking it so long he doesn’t remember where the mask ends.

I slap his shoulder — lightly, reassuring. Old instinct.

“You’re building the man you want to be,” I say. “And if she’s the right woman? She’ll appreciate the effort.”

He nods, but I see it. The doubt. Not just in her. In himself .

And, fine. Maybe in me.

After the session, I sit alone with my notes. They’re blank, because who am I kidding — I haven’t used them in years.

Matt’s voice echoes in my head.

How do you know when it’s real?

I used to know.

Now? I just sell it.